


syzygy

by traveller



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Toronto Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-13
Updated: 2005-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/traveller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>It was neither dark nor bright and neither early nor late on a night when the moon was waxing slowly, when autumn was ripening her last fruits in the fulsome curve of her belly.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	syzygy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrkinch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrkinch/gifts).



It was neither dark nor bright and neither early nor late on a night when the moon was waxing slowly, when autumn was ripening her last fruits in the fulsome curve of her belly. Bears great and small chased each other across the sky, playing a last game of catch-me-if-you-can before the great hunt rose in the east.

There was yet time.

 _Tell me what you remember,_ he said, and his hand shook a little as he raised the bottle; the liquor spilled on the tar and gravel rooftop, a haphazard anointing. The stars wheeled above, there, a soldier with a spear, there, a pair of great wings, spreading across the horizon, there, the planets slouching toward an instant, a moment, a breath.

Sean rolled his shoulders. _Trees. And rocks. And yellow, like. Gold, maybe. Sunset? I don't remember. I mean, I remember. But I don't. Fuck it. I—_

 _I remember everything,_ Viggo said, and his voice grated like his boot heel on the gravel. _There was green and blue, too. And fire and lightning. And—_

 _And coffee,_ Sean added. He smiled. _Black, black coffee._

There didn't seem to be much more to say. Viggo put the bottle down between his feet, and rolled a cigarette. Sean lit it for him, his lighter flashing and clicking and leaving a faint oily sense in the air. Viggo nodded, and inhaled the taste of falling leaves and over-ripe orchards.

 _I remember,_ Sean said eventually, his voice dry and sweet like good red wine. _I remember your hands, and I remember your taste, and I remember being afraid, of you, of myself, of all of it._

Viggo shook his head. _I don't believe you,_ he said.

 _That I remember?_

Viggo's teeth flashed; his half-smoked cigarette arced and fell like a tiny comet over the edge of the building. _No,_ he answered. _That you were ever afraid._

They leaned forward as one, hands and mouths falling into alignment. There was yet time.


End file.
